


Postlude and Nocturne

by Laylah



Category: Kingdom Hearts, The Sandman
Genre: Crossover, Gen, Podfic Available
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-17
Updated: 2009-11-17
Packaged: 2017-10-03 05:59:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laylah/pseuds/Laylah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His sister has been here, tending to her duties, and now it falls to Dream to tend to his.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Postlude and Nocturne

**Author's Note:**

> Podfic by Rhea available here: http://audiofic.jinjurly.com/postlude-and-nocturne

The battlefield is quiet, by the time Dream arrives; the hero of the tale has moved on to cross swords with other foes, and the survivors of the siege are better tended in town than down here among the shining caverns. There is none to observe his entrance, none to watch him search the flat ground where the battle took place, none to wonder at his choice of one tiny sliver of sea-blue glass from among the wreckage.

This will do, he thinks. His sister has been here, tending to her duties, and now it falls to Dream to tend to his. He might not bear his duty as a burden, in the manner of his former self, but still he will not shirk it.

From a place like this, a castle built upon the dreams of one proud visionary, it is not far to travel back to Dream's kingdom: the clouds step to one side, and a pathway opens, spun from fog and the ghost of a song. The Lord of Dreams takes his prize with him, out of the waking world, and does not look back.

He'd thought that he would re-shape this dream on the edge of Nightmare, where it last washed ashore, but when he holds its essence in his palm, he can see how ill a fit that was. This time, he will find his clay elsewhere, on the banks of the river of the Sidhe, wild magic flowing between the Lady Titania's realm and his and the water laughing to itself for the sheer wonder of chaos.

The clay warms in his hands, and the river murmurs a song of beginnings over the rocks, and Dream shapes the boy he remembers, the long hands and fine features and wild hair. The work is too easy, too familiar; he has performed this task for more dreams than he would care to, of late.

When he is satisfied with the shape of his creation, Dream rinses his hands in the river, and holds up the essence of the dream: from certain angles, the little blue charm looks like a heart. He breathes life across it, and presses it into the soft clay of the figure's chest.

The boy opens his eyes, and they are the same bright sea blue.

"My Liege," he says, kneeling, reaching out to press the hem of Dream's white robe to his lips.

"Rise," Dream says, offering his hand, and the new dream looks up at him in surprise, then stands on unsteady legs. "Do you remember what came before?"

"Yes," the boy says cautiously, standing barefoot on the shore of the river, and then the weight of memory settles over him, and his face falls. "Does this mean -- did I not die, after all? Do I have to go back?"

"You did," Dream says, "and you do not. You are no longer bound to that nightmare, nor to the corner of my realm where it originated. Two of your number have found laboratory space in the basement of my castle; another meditates in Fiddler's Green. You will be free to move through the Dreaming, like they did, and find a place that suits you."

The new dream smiles, and the expression shimmers with the hope and glamour of the Sidhe. "Do you think," he says, fingers curling as if to shape chords straight out of the air, "that I could find somewhere to make music?"

Dream smiles. "I am certain of it."


End file.
